"Crow-Man"
Marisha Ida Fonseca
4 March 2009, 11:56Mr. Saldanha would not move. He was a little, kindly looking old man, who always tucked his shirt in and ate with a fork and spoon at home. But he would not move. And Mr. Ranade, who had spent an hour of his Sunday evening in Mr Saldanha’s flat, was very very annoyed by this. Mr. Ranade’s wife’s brother-in-law’s nephew held an important post in Mantralaya, and Mr. Ranade had visited his office twice. Mr. Ranade was a very important man and Mr. Saldanha would—not—move.
Six months ago, Mr. Ranade, who was the Secretary of Bella Vista Apartments, had had the bright idea of redeveloping the building and making enough money out of it to retire comfortably. Bella Vista was quite close to Mahim station, and a few minutes walk from the market. The neighborhood was fairly quiet and the Times Ascent had described Mahim as one of the most convenient areas in the city to live in. Nearly all the residents of Bella Vista Apartments agreed with Mr. Ranade, and a supposedly honest builder had been found, who could give them a supposedly wonderful deal. Everything was going on fine, but Mr Saldanha Would Not Move. Faith can move mountains, but the combined faith of all the prophets and saints of the world would have a tough job in moving Mr Saldanha.
In vain did Mr. Ranade paint vivid word pictures of the delightful new apartments they would have and make them sound like a cross between the Udaipur Lake Palace Hotel and Milton’s Paradise. He made one or two sinister references to his connection in the Mantralaya, and ominously mentioned that he knew a Don. Mr Saldanha blandly asked him if he meant Don Juan or Donald Duck. Mr. Ranade knew what the latter was and supposed the former to be a Roman Catholic saint. He preserved what he hoped was a menacing silence, while Mr. Saldanha solved three clues in the Sunday Times crossword.
When Mr. Saldanha started to chuckle over Jug Suraiya’s article, Mr. Ranade got up to go with the good humour of a politician losing his seat in the elections.
A few days later, Mrs. Saldanha opened their fridge, only to be hit in the face by the butter. Mrs. Saldanha had been a school teacher and was not very fond of butter. That very day, the fish jumped out off the frying pan and the washing machine refused to spin. The mechanic came after seven phone calls, tapped the machine with a screwdriver, claimed that there was nothing wrong with it and presented a bill for Rs 250.
That Friday, Mr. Saldanha’s spectacles traveled from his table to the top of the flush tank. The picture of The Last Supper fell down from above the dining table and spoilt the fish curry. Clothes hung in the balcony were mysteriously torn and a large rotten potato appeared in Mrs Saldanha’s plate during lunch. Somehow the Yellow Pages fell off the cupboard in such a way so as to spank Mr. Saldanha on the rear.
What was most puzzling was the behaviour of David and Sabrina, Mr. Saldanha’s grandchildren, aged three and four respectively. They would suddenly cry out ‘Crow-Man! Crow-Man!’ while staring at certain places in the room. “What is Crow-Man?” demanded Mrs Saldanha. “There! There!” squealed Sabrina, pointing to the altar. Mrs Saldanha could only see the vase of flowers toppling over and crashing on the floor. She felt worried.
“What is Crow-Man wearing?” she asked, trying to find out more.
“ Crow-Man is a crow!” David answered.
“ But he has a face!” added Sabrina.
Matters came to a head on Saturday. There was a One Day International Test Match between India and Pakistan, and the TV refused to start. David shouted “Crow-Man is pressing the ‘off’ button of the remote! That’s why it’s not starting!” Mr Saldanha pounced on the remote, but something jabbed him hard in the stomach. He staggered and slumped into the armchair.
On Sunday, Mr Saldanha consulted the parish priest Fr Ignatius, after Mass. Fr Ignatius arrived at Bella Vista Apartments on Monday evening, puffed his way up to Mr Saldanha’s second floor flat and sprinkled every room with holy water. After a few pompous prayers, he condescended to drink three cups of tea and enjoy the Kraft cheese and Danish butter cookies Mr. Saldanha’s son had sent from the Gulf.
As Fr Ignatius waddled his way out of the front door, with a final pat on David and Sabrina’s heads, a shower of banana peels and watermelon rinds came hurtling through the air and struck him on the head with remarkable aim. For the first time in forty years, Fr Ignatius entered the church running, with an upside down banana peel on his head. Crow-Man had won this round.
But Mr. Saldanha would not give up easily. Ten rupees out of the servant’s salary which was kept on the table had mysteriously vanished. Mr Saldanha’s greatest joy was unearthing coins that had slipped between cushions of the sofa, and he mourned over this disappearance like Jacob mourning over the lost Joseph. He was determined to get rid of Crow-Man. Faith, which was supposed to move mountains, could not remove this Crow-Man, so we must try common sense instead.
Mr. Saldanha took an empty suitcase and placed a piece of raw meat inside it. He called David and Sabrina and told them “Whenever Crow-Man comes to eat the meat you just tell me, ok? Don’t make any noise to frighten him. Just whisper ‘Crow-Man’.” The two children solemnly nodded.
Mr. Saldanha quietly crept under the table. In a few minutes, he heard a soft rustling sound and then a piercing whisper from David ‘Crow-Man is eating the meat!’. Quick as lightning, Mr. Saldanha jumped up, slammed the suitcase shut and locked it. He put on his shoes, and went for a walk, taking the suitcase to throw into Mahim Creek.
When he returned, he was amused to observe the Very Important Mr. Ranade embroiled in a heated argument with a jaadugaar (magician) in the building compound. Mr Ranade was offering money, but the jaadugaar continued to gibber and gesticulate with ever increasing excitement. Suddenly, the jaadugaar ran up to where Mr. Saldanha was standing and fell down at his feet.
“Sahab, where did you put that suitcase?”
“Why do you want to know? What business is it of yours?”
“Sahab please tell me! That swine has swindled me!”
“Mr. Ranade? Then go and get your money from him, don’t come to me!”
“It is not a question of money, Sahab! Please, where is that suitcase?”
“It’s thrown into Mahim creek!”
“Arre Sahab! Meri aatma (soul) us suitcase main hai!”
Good story. I enjoyed reading it.
— Vinod Joseph · Mar 6, 15:49 · #